


Second After Second

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dark Magic, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hubert having an actual fascination with Linhardt and following through in the worst possible way, M/M, Mind Control, Mindfuck, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: [A fill for the FE3H Kink Meme Prompt requesting linbert + mind control, /476.html?thread=4060#cmt4060]Hubert decides mind control through dark magic is the most convenient way to make Linhardt do his job for the Empire.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 9
Kudos: 99
Collections: Anonymous, FE3H Kink Meme





	Second After Second

It’s ironic. He looks more awake  _ now _ than he does at any other given time.

Linhardt’s eyes are clouded over but attentive, as though he’s concentrating on one and only one thing. The smudge of purple nearly blends into their deep cobalt; the corner of his mouth twitches, just lightly, and his fingers tighten around the edge of the desk.

“The studies,” Hubert begins after several minutes of silence, “Her Majesty needs them by this weekend.”

A nod. It’s not convincing, still not enough, but Hubert paces along the pattern of the carpet with all the necessary leisure. The office is silent aside from the insistent ticking of a pendulum clock. Such things should be done delicately, he thinks, as his hand cools down with the sting of dark magic.

“Expect an envoy around Sunday lunchtime. A practical set of instructions for the removal process will suffice; have it sent right back to Enbarr.”

“Sounds like a lot of ef—”

He fuels the spell like he’s pulling on a leash. The bob of Linhardt’s throat is perceptible as he — fittingly — swallows, voice dead on the spot along with all its wit. Hubert takes a step, his boot crackles, and his impassive expression is reflected back from ever-broadening pupils. A dull, pitch black aside from the purple shine.

“So you will start working on it as soon as I leave.” None of this was, at any point, phrased as a question. 

“Yes” Linhardt sounds like he’s dreaming as he speaks.

Hubert has to glare, to get a definitive confirmation perhaps, inspect each minute detail of the  _ head researcher’s _ spindly disorderliness, the loose array of clothes thrown on. His cheeks have a few imprints from sleeping on a crease and his lips are gleamy, slightly parted, as if he’s still planning to say something. Keep them shut, Hubert wants to tell him.

“Objections?” He says instead, fully prepared to leave with a flip of cloak.

His palm is  _ just _ on the doorknob, one millisecond before turning it, when he physically feels the pull of Linhardt’s consciousness escaping his grasp. The dark fog around the stretched-out hand dampens. Hubert snaps back, and the voice behind him is still infirm and slightly confused.

“It’s,...” Linhardt pauses for a loud inhale, almost a wheeze, “...painful,... and invasive—”

How ironic, still, that he could be talking about either the crest removal studies or what’s being done to him. The other takes a determined stride towards him. Linhardt is pushed back against the desk, two fingers — now deprived of the glove — pressing on his temple in a blur of blackened fumes. Hubert’s hand is large enough to abundantly cup half his face. To push a thumb just on the brink of those lips, that pretty little mouth that’s so clever and yet so unaware. He stares a hole through Linhardt’s widened eyes. 

“Repeat after me,” he breathes, prods harshly through the mental defenses, watches the other’s goosebumps at either of the two actions, “for the sake of Her Majesty…”

“For the sake of Her Majesty…”

“And as a decent citizen of the Empire…” Hubert’s words are murky and dragged out, syllable by syllable.

He forces Linhardt to follow along, squashes every electric impulse that would sway his reasoning, preventing him from formulating a single thought out of line. And Linhardt tenses up, the narrow contour of his shoulders pulling forwards as his skin grows gradually colder and slicker with sweat where the force field permeates it. He garbles the next part a little.

“...as a decent citizen of th- the Empire…”

“I will do anything I’m ordered.”

“...Anything… I’m ordered…”

They’re barely sentences anymore but it suffices; Hubert can feel it, feel Linhardt supporting himself against the desk to arch into the hand on his cheek, clinging to the surge of dark magic like a lifeline. It’s done — he has him. The distance between them has, as it occurs to him then, diminished enough for their noses to almost brush together and for their slow exhales to mix. It’s not just Linhardt who got closer.

“And you will have those studies ready for the weekend, fully aware of what could happen if you don’t, yes?” Hubert leans forward, his other hand on the wooden surface behind the scholar, lips against his ear. “Because you’re so very smart, Linhardt.”

He receives no response except a sharp gasp for air that he takes as a ‘yes’. Linhardt is unfocused, gaping at empty space, waiting for instructions and ready to fulfill them — Hubert  _ knows _ because the vacuum in the other’s mind is in his grasp and he’s flooding it with his own thoughts. His eyes scan the soft arch of brows before him with a sudden fondness.

Linhardt has always had such a good brain to work with. So bright and quick-witted. All he needs is a nudge, and not only will he eagerly obey any instruction given by Hubert, he will also do a brilliant job of it. There’s an abyss between that gentle submission and Linhardt’s usual, insufferable attitude. Hubert contemplates how he  _ adores _ watching the shift, as he feels an urge to linger, the side of his face barely grazing the other’s.

It’s almost a whimsical movement, next. The magic quietly fizzles out. A thumb drags a centimeter or two along Linhardt’s lower lip, a bit too roughly, threatening to offend its sheltered complexion. Hubert pulls away to stare him in the eyes again, tilting his head up, searching for something like he’s conducting a medical examination. He finds a lax jaw and subdued vacancy; precisely what he  _ wanted _ to find.

And that’s where it should end, that’s where he should turn around and finally leave. A few steps and Hubert only casts a last passing glance, green irises blinking to the side like a predator’s who needs to make sure the prey is properly trapped. Linhardt remains where he was; slouching posture and doe eyes. 

Everything goes still for three ticks of the pendulum clock. 

*

Hubert usually knows exactly what he’s doing; right now he’s not sure. This is the reason dark magic is frowned upon and regulated, ideas like the one taking shape within him in that moment: that he could potentially do as he pleases. 

How would Linhardt oppose himself anyway? Months of this suggestioning have passed and the spell does wear off in a few days, but the Empire’s Leading Crest Scholar remains silent about the  _ incidents _ each time. It’s enough pressure not to mention ethically questionable experimentation — then it’s enough not to mention anything else. Anything Hubert would do.

He stops next to an armchair to lean against, surprised at his own voice coming out coarse.

“Come here.”

Like clockwork; Linhardt moves with slow, ghostly steps. Hubert’s brows draw into a furrow. He hesitates. As if he’s still expecting a moment of awareness, a snide comment, some accountability for his actions. Linhardt’s face is angled upwards to match his eye level with something that could be mistaken for curiosity out of context. Hubert gets an urge to lean in, one he counters by pressing down the other’s shoulder forcefully and saying the first thing that comes to mind.

“Get on your knees.”

He’s overcome with impatience when Linhardt  _ dares to look confused _ and unleashes another purple discharge, skimming his forehead. Hubert pervades his mind, once again, trying to transfer at least a portion of the deranged lust that’s been developing inside of him in the past minutes. 

Maybe Linhardt has understood — when his legs fold pliantly underneath him. His gaze is alert, a display of dancing purple lights, as he feels up the growing bulge in Hubert’s pants with careful fingers. How lovely they are, Hubert thinks as he helps undo his pants, and warm against his skin as well with residues of white magic usage. It’s a shame they aren’t wrapped around his cock more often.

Linhardt’s mouth opens just enough to reveal the pink glistens of his tongue and the hollow of his throat contracting as he gulps; it’s a strenuous challenge for Hubert not to just fuck into it. Hold his nape still and stuff Linhardt’s pretty face with his cock.

Ah, but this is careful work. Too much of a shock could wear the spell thin.

Instead he presses the head against those lips with caution. Linhardt is indecisive and then settles on licking all the way up from the base, both palms vaguely fidgeting around the erection, looking for leverage — when he takes Hubert in his mouth, Hubert actually  _ moans _ . It feels like a slip-up. The sounds are frantically off-rhythm from the clock’s and his fingernails lightly scrape at the armchair’s padding.

It’s a transgression, what he’s doing, it’s impermissible self-indulgence— But is it so, really? More impermissible than Linhardt wasting away when he could be — is —  _ so good, so obedient _ …? Hubert almost lets another noise escape him at how exquisite the suction around his cock is, he threads a hand through silky green locks, about to undo the white tie around the bun.

It takes a few ticks in the background, to fall apart. Hubert encourages the bobs of Linhardt’s head with less care. The portion of hair kept meticulously out of his face falls everywhere, and, for the first time, he emits somewhat of a whimper. Hubert’s heart rate picks up, either from an increased arousal or vigilance — maybe this is too much autonomy. Maybe he should make sure, once again, that the scholar’s brain is empty and tractable, and that the flushing of his cheeks is merely physiological or a compliance to instruction.  _ Even if it’s so easy on the eyes _ . 

He doesn’t know what it is about Linhardt in this state. It dawns on Hubert that his laziness is really the one quality that makes him annoying, what is Linhardt when one does away with it? He has the most pristine intelligence and sense of humor and those fanning lashes and  _ hell, why is he so excellent with his tongue _ —

Hubert’s grip becomes an unforgiving vise, locks bunching between the fingers of his bare hand as he relinquishes self-control and shoves his cock all the way down Linhardt’s throat. The other chokes on it but lets him. He  _ has to _ , because at this point he’s been brainwashed out of any semblance of free will. What a useless ethical concern that is, especially when the sensation of warm heat around Hubert’s cock is so maddeningly good; what a small price to pay in conscience to have Linhardt malleable on his knees like this.

He comes deep inside, holding the other’s head in place for long enough to disrupt his breathing. Hubert’s teeth grit involuntarily as the hands resting on his hips stiffen. Meticulous as he is, he makes sure every last spurt of his seed ends up in Linhardt’s mouth — the only outward residues are a few droplets. Hubert pulls out and takes his chin between two fingers, the pulse beneath it is strong enough to palpate. The next moment he sounds sinister and visceral.

“Swallow it.”

Linhardt does. Even if he struggles and a hint of tears dwell up in his eyes; because he’s following the command. The shines of dark magic are still there as a reminder. Hubert lets his head tilt backwards, coming off the high of his orgasm with slowly resettling breaths, tries to gather his forces to tuck himself back into his underwear. His hand brushes against Linhardt’s by complete accident; but it serves to take note of how scalding hot his knuckles are, either that or Hubert’s fingertips are freezing.

No, he decides, this is all he will allow both of them for today. He tears his gaze away from Linhardt’s eerie expression as he kneels before him, untouched, unsatisfied and unquestioning. Hubert mutters something to him under his breath, along the lines of getting back to work coupled with nebulous threats, and he avoids,  _ fears _ those pools of dark blue all of a sudden.

Before long he vanishes like he’s never been there. Soon the other glove is back on and Hubert returns to reality with faint hopes that Edelgard hasn’t been looking for him for too long. The last thought he has about the afternoon is whether Linhardt will really think nothing of it when he’s back to full self-awareness, whether he’ll be shocked or look at Hubert with that rarely-seen anger of his the next time they meet. 

But it matters not. All he has to do is cast a spell on him again.


End file.
